Shadow Of The Fox: a must read mythical new Japanese adventure from New York Times bestseller Julie Kagawa

Choose to be more kitsune? How did I do that? Was there a ritual for it? I thought back to what Denga-san had said this evening, about my yokai nature overshadowing my humanity. Was that what the monks were afraid of? Did they fear I would turn into a nogitsune, an evil wild fox that delighted in fear and chaos and preyed on humans whenever it could?

I swallowed hard. “But what if I don’t want to be more kitsune?” I asked, making Tanuki-baba frown. “What if I’m happy as a human and a fox?”

She sniffed. “Then you are a fool,” she stated bluntly. “And you are fighting a losing battle. It is very hard to be human, little fox. Even the humans themselves don’t do a great job of it. The mortal world is full of hatred, betrayal, sadness and death. Most yokai and kami alike find that it is too much for them. Everything the humans think they value—love, honor, empathy, compassion—we yokai need nothing of those, especially when they so often lead to suffering and despair. It is far easier to abandon everything that is human and just be kitsune. The world of spirits and yokai is far less complicated than the world of men.”

“I don’t understand, Tanuki-baba.”

“Of course not.” Tanuki-baba shook her shaggy head, but did not elaborate. “You are a cub, with no sense of the world. But you will learn. If you continue to try to balance your two natures, you will. And in time, when you finally experience what the human world is truly like, you will decide that being a fox is much less difficult than being human.” She glanced down at the table, nostrils twitching. “But now, our teacups are empty, and the fish is gone. That means it is time for bed.”

I rose and bowed to the ancient tanuki. One did not question the habits or behaviors of yokai as old as she. “I should go home,” I said, taking a step back. “The monks will probably be waiting with a lecture. Thank you for the tea and the conversation, Tanuki-baba.”

“Fox cub,” the old yokai called as I reached the door. I glanced back to see the squat, furry creature sitting in the squalor of her house, watching me with eyes that glowed yellow in the shadows. “You walk a thin line, little kitsune,” she said, and her voice was a warning, though I didn’t know from what. “The place between the spirit realm and the mortal realm is a difficult one, indeed. Remember, you can always give up your humanity if things become too hard. It is far easier for a kitsune, even a half kitsune, to abandon it than one who is fully mortal.”

I still didn’t know what she meant by that, so I simply nodded and left, slipping into the dim quiet of the woods.

Immediately, I knew something was wrong.

In the time I had spent in Tanuki-baba’s home, night had fallen, and the forest had gone deathly still. Instead of birdsong or the rustle of small creatures scampering through the undergrowth, an ominous silence hung in the air. The forest kami had vanished like they’d never been, leaving empty, lifeless woods behind. And a new scent was creeping through the trees, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. The sharp, acrid scent of smoke.

I sprinted through the forest, retracing my steps past the hollow, the stream and the bamboo grove, until I reached the pond. The green-and-silver wall opened up, showing the night sky with a faded crescent moon overhead and a smear of crimson sinking into the west.

My heart twisted. A dark smudge was rising over the tree line, coiling and ominous, like a terrible black dragon. It snaked into the air, blotting out the stars, coming from the direction of...

“Home.”

5 (#uf72bb666-e88e-53b3-afb1-d9ca8e0cd16f)

Demons in the Bamboo

I was close.

Even on horseback, it had taken me several days to reach Earth Clan territory and the Niwaki Mountains where the Silent Winds temple was said to be located. The tiny farming community in the valley below the forested peaks stared at me, wide-eyed, as I rode past terraced fields and thatched huts, following the path that snaked toward the mountains. A pair of small children trailed behind my horse, palpably curious and getting steadily closer, until they were snatched away by worried-looking adults. Traveling samurai were likely rare to this part of the valley, members of the Shadow Clan even more so, and farmers naturally gave the warrior class a wide berth. For this mission, I was dressed in the part of a Kage samurai, in hakama trousers and a black haori jacket, the crest of the Shadow Clan on my back. My shinobi gear was tucked into the saddlebags of my horse in case I needed it, though a shadow warrior never revealed himself to outsiders. If I was denied entry at the gates, I would slip over the walls and infiltrate the temple as silently as a yurei ghost, but for now, I was a samurai on a warrior’s pilgrimage, seeking wisdom at the shrines across Iwagoto.

A thin farmer wearing a ragged tunic and a cloth tied around his forehead bowed low as I passed, dropping his gaze to the dirt. I pulled the horse to a stop and glanced down at him, or rather, at the top of his bald head.

“Is the Silent Winds temple nearby?” I asked softly. The man didn’t look up, only bobbed once at the waist, his eyes on his sandaled feet as he replied.

“H-hai, my lord! The temple is right up this path, at the top of the mountain.”

“Thank you.”

I gave the horse a nudge and continued on, leaving the farmers and the village behind. The path became a narrow, twisting trail that grew more treacherous the farther it wound through the forest. I surmised that the monks of this temple rarely received, or encouraged, visitors. Perhaps they simply wished to meditate and study in peace, far removed from the chaos of the world, or perhaps they were hiding—protecting—something.

As night fell and the shadows grew long, the trail nearly vanished, melting into the brush and thick undergrowth, as if the forest itself took offense to intruders. But I had been trained to spot the hidden and the invisible, and darkness was no hindrance for me. I continued, passing bamboo groves and huge trees strung with sacred rope, signifying they were home to the kami.

In my head, Hakaimono stirred. I pulled the horse to a stop and sat, motionless, trying to hear past the labored breaths of the animal beneath me. Around us, the woods were silent and still, evening shadows cloaking all but a few spots of mottled red sunlight.

Very slightly, I opened myself up to the sword and felt the terror in the woods around me, the rapid heartbeats of many living things. Coming toward us? There was a rustle in the bushes ahead, and my horse froze, every muscle taut.

With an eruption of leaves and vegetation, a herd of spotted deer leaped out of the trees and bounded toward me, causing my pulse to spike and my horse to rear up with a squeal. I kept my seat as the animal tried to bolt, squeezing with my knees and pulling back the reins, managing to bring it under control. It snorted and trembled, ears pinned to its skull, as the deer sprang past us and continued into the forest. Hakaimono flared, and I shoved the demon’s presence down, as well.

As the horse calmed, I breathed cautiously and caught the hint of smoke on the wind. I gazed through the canopy overhead, saw a curl of blackness rising over the treetops and kicked the horse into motion. We sped down the trail, Hakaimono pulsing eagerly in my mind, knowing violence was not far away, and death would soon follow.

The air grew hazy and sharp, smelling of burning timber, and my stomach clenched. Looking up, I saw a faint crimson glow against the sky. Small forest creatures, rabbits, squirrels and others, fled through the undergrowth, going in the opposite direction, and my horse began to balk, fighting my orders to continue. Grimly, I set my heels to its ribs and continued, knowing it wasn’t the fire that was spooking it. Something was here, in the forest. And whatever it was, I couldn’t allow it to hinder my mission. I had to get to the scroll.

As we reached a narrow, half-eroded flight of steps through a bamboo forest, a kama sickle flew from the bushes, spinning end over end, and struck my mount in the neck. As the horse screamed and fell, crashing to the steps, I sprang from the saddle and rolled, feeling the jarring impact through my shoulder, then came to my feet several yards away.

A flood of small grotesque creatures spilled from the bamboo forest, cackling and waving spears and crude blades. They swarmed the horse, leaping atop its back, shrieking and poking as it struggled to its feet. Panicked, the mortally wounded horse fled, bucking wildly down the path with its demonic passengers clinging to the saddle, while the rest of the horde spun on me.

Amanjaku? I felt a ripple of both shock and unease, even as Hakaimono flared excitedly at so many things to kill. I had dealt with them in the past, but never in these numbers. How were there so many?

I drew Kamigoroshi as the demons shrieked, baring their fangs, and attacked. One sweep split the first wave in half, severing heads and torsos, and the amanjaku howled as they were sent back to Jigoku. Leaping forward, I dodged a spear thrust at me, stabbed a demon in the eye and beheaded another as I yanked the blade out. Then I was in their midst, and it was nothing but teeth and claws and flashing blades. I gave myself over to the dance of death, Hakaimono’s unrestrained glee surging through my veins.

With alarmed shrieks and howls, the remaining amanjaku scattered into the bamboo forest, their small forms fading quickly from view. Panting, I lowered Kamigoroshi and looked around, wondering where they’d come from, who had brought them here. Amanjaku were minor demons of Jigoku; they couldn’t appear out of nowhere, but the blood magic needed to summon them was a dangerous power that was strictly forbidden throughout the empire. The key component to working the magic of Jigoku was, of course, blood. Sometimes it required other things: souls, organs, body parts, but mostly it called for the life force that ran through all mortal veins. The larger, more powerful the spell, the more blood was required to successfully cast it.

But, the dangerous catch was, it didn’t have to come from the practitioner. Jigoku didn’t care whose blood was spilled, be it man, woman or child, as long as it was human, and as long as the price was paid. Although, as befitting the realm of evil and corruption, the more you cared for the person whose blood was being spilled, the more powerful the magic that came of it. A lover, brother or child whom you betrayed would bestow far more power than a nameless stranger. This was the reason the empire forbade blood magic, why practicing the dark arts was an immediate death sentence. Even a single amanjaku required a blood sacrifice to draw it into the mortal realm; I couldn’t imagine the amount an entire horde would call for.

I didn’t know who had summoned the demons, but I could certainly guess why. After sheathing Kamigoroshi, I sprinted up the trail, heading for the temple and hoping I wasn’t too late.

6 (#uf72bb666-e88e-53b3-afb1-d9ca8e0cd16f)

The Flames of Despair

The temple was on fire.

I burst out of the forest, panting, staring in horror at the bright orange flames snapping against the night sky. The elegant, four-tiered pagoda roofs were ablaze, a roaring, savage inferno, the stench of smoke, ash and charred timbers scorching the air. Ripples of heat seared my skin as I approached the back wall, scrambled gracelessly to the top and dropped with a thump into the gardens.

What did this? Who would dare? I’d heard tales of the world beyond the temple walls, stories of warring clans and fierce, proud samurai. Tales of rival daimyo lords and their endless bickering, how they would declare war and hurl entire armies at each other over some imagined slight to their honor. But according to Master Isao, even the most savage, warmongering daimyo respected the monks, or at least, would not risk the kami’s wrath by attacking a peaceful temple.

Unless they knew about the scroll.

A shriek turned my blood to ice, and I ducked behind a juniper tree. Peering around the trunk, trying not to inhale smoke and ash, I dug my nails into the bark to keep myself from gasping in terror.

A crowd of small grotesque...things were gibbering and dancing around the pond, silhouetted in the hellish light of the fires. At first, I thought they were misshapen children; they wore ratty tunics, had large, bulbous heads and stood barely past my knees. But then I saw the horns, the mouths full of pointed teeth, the tattered ears and jutting fangs. Their skin was either a mottled blue or red, and they carried crude weapons in their claws: kama sickles, spears and short knives.

My blood chilled. Demons? Jinkei’s mercy, why are demons here? I had seen pictures of demons in the temple library, terrible red-or blue-skinned oni with horns, fangs and enormous clubs, who tormented the wicked souls sent to Jigoku. These creatures, stabbing the poor trapped carp swirling frantically around the pond, weren’t as big as the monsters in the books, but I could tell they were demons nonetheless.

I clenched my fist against the trunk, feeling the bark dig into my knuckles. Why were demons here? Why were they attacking the temple? For the scroll? But I’d thought the creatures of Jigoku lived only for bloodshed and chaos; the scroll would mean nothing to demons. Unless something else, or someone else, was commanding them...

This makes no sense. I have to find Master Isao. But first, I have to get past those demons.

After plucking a leaf from the juniper tree, I slipped around the trunk and placed the leaf on my head, drawing on my fox magic. For a moment, I found it horribly ironic that, just this afternoon, I’d been wishing to use my magic more often. My heart pounded, but I held the image of what I wanted in my mind, then released the magic over my body. There was a soundless explosion of smoke, and when I opened my eyes, my skin was a mottled red and my feet had hooked yellow claws on the ends of their toes.

With a deep breath, I stepped away from the tree, just as one of the demons at the pond looked up and spotted me.

It blinked for a moment, frowning, and I held my breath, hoping he saw what I wanted him to see: a fellow demon, red-skinned and hideous. I chanced a grin, baring crooked fangs, and the demon snorted, returning to its game of stabbing the carp. The once crystal clear water of the pond was now red with blood. Leaving the doomed fish to their fate, I hurried on.

The roar of the fire greeted me as I left the gardens, and clouds of swirling embers stung my skin as I passed the engulfed pagoda and ran toward the main hall, keeping to the bushes and shadows. An even bigger crowd of demons swarmed the building, waving torches and cavorting around the steps that led to the entrance. When I peeked through the leaves, my stomach gave a painful twist. A few yards away, a body lay sprawled on the stones of the courtyard, a pair of spears jutting from its chest, vacant eyes staring into nothing.